Page 52 of Circle of Death
“What I’m sure about is that we need to get to France. And this is the quickest way to do it.”
“Fine,” says Margo. She walks to the fuselage and steps into the compartment, easing herself down into the seat until only her blond hair is peeking above the side of the fuselage.
My turn. Looks like a very tight fit.
“Should have brought a shoehorn, boss!” yells Jericho.
I zip my jumpsuit up tight to my throat and squeeze into the open seat directly in front of Margo. My knees are bent up toward my chest and my feet are pressed against an aluminum bulwark. Through an open hatchway, I can see Tapper in the pilot’s seat, turning dials and flipping switches.
I hear the whine of a small motor. The canopies lower over us. There’s a small sucking sound as the gaskets seal, then a gentle hiss as the onboard air supply kicks in.
I feel a hard lurch. My seat starts to vibrate. When I look to the side, we’re rolling toward a white centerline. Tapper fine-tunes the maneuver until the nose of the plane points straight down the runway.
“Do we have parachutes?” Margo calls out.
“No room!” says Tapper.
“Ejection seats?” I ask.
“Just mine!” Tapper replies. He lowers a dark visor over his face and grabs a large lever at the base of the console.
“Clench your sphincters,” he calls out. “She’s got a kick.”
The main engine behind us rises in pitch, from a loud whine to a guttural roar. Suddenly, I’m slammed against the back of my seat and the runway is shooting past in a gray blur. The nose of the aircraft tips at a sharp angle and we shoot up into the sky. More like a launch than a takeoff. I feel a heavy thud from underneath my seat.
“Wheels up!” shouts Tapper above the engine noise. “Enjoy your flight!”
I hope I didn’t make a mistake when I let this guy live.
CHAPTER 63
MADDY IS IN a deep sleep when she feels a warm tongue slurping at her face. She presses a pillow over her head. “Bando! Quit it!” But the terrier won’t give up. He tries to root underneath the covers, sniffing and whining, begging for attention. A moment later, Maddy feels a gentle hand resting between her shoulder blades. She lifts the pillow to see her grandmother sitting on the edge of the bed.
Jessica snaps her fingers. “Bando, down.” The dog hops off the bed and curls up on the floor. Maddy props herself up on her elbows.
“Are they gone?” she asks. “Margo and Lamont?”
Jessica nods. “On their way to France.”
Maddy isn’t sorry for not going to the airport for the send-off. She still hasn’t forgiven Lamont and Margo for keeping quiet about the World’s Fair killings, or for leaving town before Deva’s murder is solved. At the thought of her, Maddy’s eyes brim with tears again.
Jessica reaches out and grasps her hand. “You miss her. Your dancer friend.”
“I do,” says Maddy, sniffling through tears. “So much.”
Jessica leans in and whispers. “You know who else loved to dance?”
Maddy shakes her head.
“Your mother.”
Maddy sits back and wipes her eyes. “Really?” Jessica rarely speaks of Ellen, Maddy’s mom. And Maddy hardly has any firsthand memory of her. All she knows is that her parents both died young, and that Jessica raised her on her own. Maddy looks at Jessica and realizes that her grandmother knows exactly what she’s thinking.
“It’s okay,” says Jessica. “Go back.”
Maddy sits up. She had told her grandmother that she was learning chuanghu and she had to disclose the risks, so she never expected this. “When to?” she asks.
“Your third birthday,” says Jessica.
